


The British Government Babysits

by sherlohomora



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, Sherlock and John are married, Uncle Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlohomora/pseuds/sherlohomora
Summary: When John and Sherlock are called away on a case, they leave toddler Rosie in the care of Uncle Mycroft.





	The British Government Babysits

Mycroft’s unannounced visits to 221B became a bit more frequent after John and Rosie moved back in – he’d never admit it, but The British Government was absolutely crazy about his new little niece. One day he happened to drop by the flat just as John and Sherlock received an urgent text from Lestrade about a serial killer.

“Go on, both of you,” Mycroft ordered without a moment’s hesitation.  
“But Mrs. Hudson’s –” Sherlock began. He gestured toward the toddler currently playing with a wooden puzzle on the floor nearby.  
“Away at her sister’s, yes. I’ll remain here and look after your daughter,” the elder Holmes announced. 

Sherlock was too stunned to speak, but John managed to babble their thanks as he helped the detective don his coat. They each gave Rosie a goodbye kiss, then dashed out the door. 

Ten seconds later, Rosie was red-faced and wailing for Daddy and Papa. Mycroft had dealt with all manner of crises – but never a screaming child. Still, he was too proud to call his brother and ask him to come back, so he assumed a stiff crouch (the man hadn’t kneeled in decades) and tentatively placed a hand on his niece’s back. He expected her to reject his touch, but instead she dove into his arms, continuing to sob as she buried her face in the pinstriped fabric of his waistcoat. 

“There, there, sweetheart. I know. I know. It’s all right. They’ll be back soon. Uncle Mycroft’s here.” Mycroft spoke in tones similar to the ones he’d used to dissuade volatile dictators from launching nuclear weapons. While he wasn’t warm or affectionate by nature, the man _did_ know to soothe. He continued  to murmur reassurance as he rubbed Rosie’s back. Although the crying didn’t cease for quite some time, she eventually allowed her breath to fall into the rhythym of the slow, gentle circles traced by her uncle’s palm. His heart swelled as he felt her tiny frame relax, just like her papa’s used to when he was a boy. How many nights had Sherlock crawled into Mycroft’s bed, upset by a nightmare or agitated thoughts, seeking the comfort only his beloved big brother could provide? And now Mycroft had performed the same tender, calming ritual for Sherlock’s daughter. He felt his lips curl upwards in a rare, genuine smile. _Yes_ , g _enetics aside, she’s definitely a Holmes_ , he concluded, lifting his hand to stroke her fine, soft curls.

“Mycoff,” Rosie sighed. He shifted her tenderly in his lap as he retrieved a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket, then used it to delicately dab at her tear-streaked cheeks. She started squirming when he wiped at her runny nose, so he released her from his arms. Babbling happily, she toddled over to the stack of picture books next to Sherlock’s chair. Mycroft managed to heave himself to a standing position and smoothed the wrinkles from his snot-and-tear-stained suit. 

“Mycoff! Mycoff!” Rosie triumphantly waved a book in the air.

“My, my, what do we have here?” He crossed to her side, tilting his head to peer at the book’s title. “ _Mr. Duck’s Rainy Day_ ,” he read aloud. 

“Mycoff book,” Rosie said, presenting the book to her uncle. The cover illustration featured a rather smug-looking cartoon mallard with an umbrella tucked under his wing.

“You’re a very clever girl, Rosamund,” Mycroft said. _Just like her papa._

“Please, Mycoff?” She looked up at him longingly. _Well, not_ just _like her papa. She has her daddy’s eyes. And the “please” is definitely John’s doing as well._

“You wish is my command, dear niece,” he said. Seated in Sherlock’s leather chair, the little girl on his lap, Mycroft read aloud the story of Mr. Duck’s weather-related mishaps. Rosie was particularly delighted by Mycroft’s choice to read Mrs. Duck’s dialogue in his old “Lady Bracknell” voice. 

“Again, Mycoff! Book, please, again!” Rosie cried. Her uncle was happy to indulge her.

However, Mycroft made sure to resume his Ice Man demeanor the second he heard the faint creak of the front door opening. “Daddy! Papa!” Rosie recognized the sound of her fathers’ voices as they climbed the stairs. She scrambled off her uncle’s lap and raced to the door. As soon as Sherlock crossed the threshold, he scooped his child up in his arms. Still a bit high on adrenaline from the chase, he spun and lifted Rosie in the air, then dipped her low enough for John to kiss her cheek.

“Were you a good girl for Uncle Mycroft, love?” John asked.

“She was very well-behaved,” Mycroft said. He stood and retrieved his umbrella, which was leaning against the fireplace. “Though your sudden departure resulted in some initial distress, she soon recovered and spent the remainder of her time in my care engaged in quiet, solitary play.” 

Sherlock snorted. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Indeed, your toddler’s manners are far superior to your own, brother mine.” 

“We really do appreciate you watching her, Mycroft,” John said. “Thanks to you, we were able to ambush the suspect at his safe house in time to save his next potential victim.” 

“Don’t worry, though, brother dear – you remain our sitter of last resort. Dire emergencies only. I know children are hardly your area. Better if you stick to your fields of expertise: country-running, cake-eating, that sort of thing,” Sherlock said. He gracefully lowered Rosie to the floor. “But we did, er, appreciate the favor.”

“Yes, well, I trust the experience didn’t scar her for life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be off. I’ve a dinner with the Japanese ambassador this evening. Farewell,” Mycroft said briskly, striding towards the door. He felt a tug on his pant leg.

“Bye bye, Myoff,” Rosie said, clutching his shin and beaming up at him with the kind of adoration he hadn’t seen since Sherlock was a child.

“Goodbye, my dear niece,” Mycroft said quietly. He gave her curls a final little pat before freeing himself and swiftly exiting the flat. He did not turn back to glimpse Sherlock’s and John’s slightly incredulous expressions. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm Sherlohomora on Tumblr.


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